


Under the Midnight Sun

by tmntpunx



Series: TMNT: Under the Midnight Sun [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19216528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmntpunx/pseuds/tmntpunx
Summary: Donatello isn't about to let April O'Neil finish her journalism degree and move across country without letting her know how he's felt since they were teenagers. But when something inexplicable arrives in Earth's atmosphere on the night of their first date it's hardly something the turtles and their friends can ignore. A story about life, discovery & how we rediscover ourselves, and each other.





	1. Chapter 1

Donatello pushed his glasses back up his snout. “Perfect,” he said, a smile hesitantly spreading across his face as he admired his work.

The telescope was ready. He had spent weeks tinkering with it, between experiments, tech support calls and his own online class work, and now the hunk of junk Michelangelo had scraped out of a dumpster was a veritable gateway to the stars. 

And April’s heart. 

Donatello swallowed against a lump traveling up his throat. He pushed his glasses back up his snout again. He didn’t have much time. April was almost done with her journalism degree. She would be going to graduate school soon; the acceptance letters were already rolling in. All she needed to do was say yes. 

And April had sounded  _ very  _ interested in the Masters in Communication program at UC Berkeley lately. Whenever she mentioned it, Donatello always smiled, and nodded, made sure to spout off some stats on the university's ranking (which were excellent, unfortunately), all while silently hoping, pleading, even  _ praying _ that April wouldn’t choose a program on the other side of the country. Hoping that she would not go where he could not follow. 

He turned the telescope over in his hands, trying to focus on the cool metal cylinder. He had never had a telescope before. He had never needed one. There were no stars in the sewers. Donatello had been puzzled that Michelangelo had brought such a thing back at all, but then he remembered how he had told Michelangelo about those those hot Northampton nights he and April had shared. Nights too hot to do anything other than sit on the porch swing and sweat, and talk, though Donatello had mostly just listened. More than once April had mentioned climbing up on the farmhouse roof with her father with her telescope as a child. Donatello had few fond memories of his childhood. It was a dark, dank lonely place, spent confined below the ground. But he could understand why April felt such nostalgia for hers. Things were simpler, then. Safer. And then the Hamato clan and the Kraang had broken over her life like Hokusai’s Great Wave, and nothing would ever be the same.  

But maybe, just  _ maybe _ , he could give her a glimpse back into that simpler, safe life, even without Northampton. Tonight.

New York City hardly offered the same views as the Northampton farmhouse, sequestered away upstate, away from the traffic, and the people, and the light pollution, but still - it was an excuse to spend a night alone, with April, on top of a roof, under the stars. Donatello forced himself to take a deep breath as his pebbly skin prickled.

_ Now or never, _ he repeated silently to himself.

He was running out of time. Graduation was only months away, and April would have to make a decision before that; she would have to make her decision within  _ weeks _ . His stomach lurched at the thought. _ A west coast school. _ He swallowed reflexively, trying to rid his mouth of a sudden bad taste creeping over his tongue. But it was April’s choice. It had always been her choice, hadn’t it? 

“It’s now or never,” the turtle mumbled. He meant it to be more of a declaration, but the words just fell out of his mouth, like tools falling out of a drawer that was packed too tightly. 

“What wazzat?” came a cheery voice from the hall.

“Nothing, Michelangelo!” Donatello barked reflexively.

A smiling face peered around the doorway. “You talking to that telescope again?” 

Donatello’s shoulders hunched. “Maybe.”

“Oh come on, dude.” Michelangelo swung into the lab.

Donatello sighed. He knew he should have kept the door closed, but he had needed the extra light from the hall to complete the last adjustments to the telescope. He made a mental note to put in an order for more LEDs for his lab and be done with it. Michelangelo leaned on the worktable beside him. The youngest turtle cocked his head to the side, as if examining his brother. Donatello felt Michelangelo’s blue eyes on him. He shifted his weight. Trained his eyes on his work table. 

Michelangelo leaned in and whispered, “She already knows you like her.”

“Michelangelo!” Donatello wheezed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as he swatted his youngest brother away. 

“What?” The youngest turtle shrugged, as if April O’Neil, April “Love of Donatello’s Life” O’Neil, was no big deal. 

“It’s true! All you have to do is  _ tell  _ her.” 

“I - “There were so many reasons not to tell her, to let everything continue business as usual. In the years since they had first met April, their friendship had grown into something he never thought he would share with anyone, much less a human. Much less a human  _ woman. _ His thoughts drifted to her, then. Her long, fiery red hair and how it swung from side to side across her shoulders as she walked. Her fierce blue eyes. The constellation of freckles illuminating her cheeks. How smart she was. How tenacious. How beautiful. 

“She’s not gonna be around forever, you know,” Michelangelo said. Though he was smiling, there was a heaviness to his voice that had not been present in his earlier cajoling. 

“She might end up at a grad program here in New York, or maybe even DC,” Donatello replied, hoping  - even though he knew better - that what he was positing could be true. He hefted the telescope up, bringing the eyepiece to his spectacles. He peered into the telescope with one eye, squinting the other. Distractions aside, there was no denying it - Michelangelo was obviously, painfully right.  “It’s only a train ride away…”

As if any of them could just get on a train. 

“You’re missin’ the point, dude,” Michelangelo said, a smile crinkling the edges of his bright blue eyes. “You gotta tell her.” 

“I will,” Donatello said, setting the telescope down on his work table. “Tonight.” 

Michelangelo raised a single brow ridge in doubt. 

“I will!” Donatello insisted. “I found the perfect rooftop. The telescope is finally ready. And Jupiter is going to be so  _ bright _ tonight.” The turtle rested his head in one hand while he idly caressed the track pad of his laptop with the other. “We might even be able to see it through the smog.” 

_ It’s going to be perfect _ , he thought _.  _ Donatello had it all planned. He would pack a thermos of coffee, and a blanket, and strap the telescope to his shell. They would  have a picnic under the stars, and he would tell her he loved her. And there was some small part of him that hoped that it would give her a reason to stay. With a tap, he refreshed the weather page he had up in his browser. A small smile tugged at the corner of Donatello’s mouth. Clear skies all night.  _ Perfect _ . 

“How romantic!” Michelangelo sighed beside him. “Geez, Don, I didn’t know you had it in ya.” 

Donatello rolled his eyes at his brother. “Don’t be patronizing.”

“You think I don’t know what that means, but I totally do,” Michelangelo gave Donatello gentle pat on Donatello’s shell before he drifted away from the workbench. 

Donatello felt his shoulders slump, but he forced himself to hold in the sigh burning in his lungs as much as his heart. The youngest turtle paused at the doorway. Donatello shot a glance back at Michelangelo over his shoulder, brow still furrowed.

“Open or shut?” Michelangelo asked with a smile. 

“Shut,” Donatello grumbled as he turned back to his work. “Please!” he added hastily. 

The door shut quietly behind him, and Donatello’s shoulders sagged in relief. Michelangelo was right. Everybody knew. Including April. She had to know. She was too smart not to. Donatello pinched the bridge of his nose.  _ She knows _ , he told himself. They had just never actually  _ talked _ about it. In all the years, through all the battles, every insane adventure, and all the hardship, they had never talked about it. Not once. There had been so many times that the words were there, at the tip of his tongue, crowding at the edge of his mouth, screaming to be said, to be heard; but he had never actually said them aloud. Not to her. 

Donatello stood, gathering a handful of tools that lay splayed across his work table. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to tell her. He had. He had wanted to tell her a thousand times. But when she and Casey had gotten together, it had just seemed pointless. He yanked open one of the drawers in his tool chest and started dumping things in. A frown settled over his face. But that was over now. April had moved on. 

Hadn’t she? Donatello nervously chewed his lip. 

She no longer came to the lair with Casey. Or left with him. Michelangelo had been the only one brazen enough to actually ask one night, after Casey left alone -  _ So are you two still, like, a  _ **_thing_ ** ? He remembered her face, the sad smile that blossomed on her rosebud lips, and how he couldn’t hear anything but his heart in his ears until she said it -  _ No. But it’s for the best. Really _ . The words were right there that night, burning his tongue like a slice of Michelangelo’s ghost pepper pizza, but he just choked them back with a glass of milk. 

Donatello did not count this with the many times he had wanted to tell her, but the words were still there, clamoring at the back of his throat. The shadow passenger that was with him, always, in every battle, and late night chat session, and over every dinner. Those four unspoken words, burned into his heart, burning brighter with every laugh, every smile, every sideways glance across the workbench. 

_ I love you, April _ . 

Donatello shut the toolbox drawer. It clattered loudly in the quiet of his lab. This was it. It was time. He was going to tell her. 

_ Tonight.  _

The turtle sat down at his bench again and paused. He gently slid his hand down his finished work. The telescope hadn’t been in all that bad of shape when Michelangelo brought it to him. The optical tube was undamaged, and the aperture seemed to adjust just fine. He had only needed to repair the focuser and the eyepiece, and replace the mounting hardware. It was a perfectly fine piece of equipment; it just needed a few minor repairs. Donatello’s face scrunched into a frown. He had never understood why humans were always so eager to just throw things away. But their loss was his gain.

_ One man’s trash is a turtle’s treasure, I guess _ , he thought, setting the telescope back down on his work table. 

A knock came at the door, and Donatello turned to face the sound. His brothers rarely bothered him when the door to his lab was closed.

“Come in!” he called.

The door opened slowly to reveal Leonardo’s lean silhouette. 

“Leo!” Donatello said, a little too quickly and much too loudly. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh.” A smile cracked Leonardo’s face, making his eyes shine. “Of course. I’m sorry to interrupt,” he shrugged apologetically. “I just heard tonight’s the big night.” 

_ Michelangelo _ , Donatello seethed silently. And then he sighed. “Yep,” he said, forcing a smile. “Big night.” 

“Is April coming by…?”

Donatello almost chuckled at his brother’s question. He felt like a teen on prom night in one of Michelangelo’s rom coms. Unfortunately the VHS collection was full of them, and Michelangelo would not allow anyone throw them away. Was this the part where his date came to the house and got a talking to from Dad? The part where April O’Neil got the Hurt My Precious Baby And  _ I’ll Kill You _ talk? He smiled wryly, thinking about it. He knew April would never hurt him. Not intentionally. 

She had chosen Casey. After years of both of them vying for her, she had chosen him. April and Casey had been a thing. It was the most sensible decision, and Donatello had understood, even though it had hurt. He remembered the first time he had witnessed them kissing with painful clarity. It was Halloween, and they were all up topside for the parade. The one night he and his brothers could be above without fear of any major repercussions (though Michelangelo and Raphael always seemed to find themselves in some sort of trouble). April had been dressed as a witch, and Casey - Casey was the hockey mask wearing monster from Friday the 13th. Of course. Donatello and Michelangelo had been walking in tandem, Michelangelo going on about which flavors of Jolly Ranchers he liked best, when Donatello had seen them. Casey’s fingers had entwined April’s, and her neck craned up towards his. And her eyes. Her blue eyes had shone so brightly looking at Casey that night. She had kissed him a hundred times, before. But she had never looked at him like that. Casey’s mask was off in a second, and when their lips had met, Donatello felt a pit in his stomach swelling up like a black hole, ready to consume everything within reach. 

It had hurt less each time, after that. 

“Don?”

“Oh,” Donatello blinked behind his glasses. “I’m meeting her topside.”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Leonardo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you. It’s been a long time coming.” 

There was a sadness in Leonardo’s voice that Donatello knew all too well. It crept in now and again, when he thought about her. And they all danced around it, this sadness, felt, and heard, but never said. And they kept going. Leonardo had made his choice. 

“Yeah,” Donatello nodded. “It has.”

“Right,” Leo said, smiling lopsidedly. “But I’m sure we can manage patrol without you tonight.” 

Donatello paused. He had completely forgotten. He had been so engrossed in making sure the telescope was functional, in checking the weather report, in  _ planning _ that he had forgotten. 

Then the eldest turtle winked. “I won’t tell Sensei.”  

“Thanks, Leo,” Donatello said quietly, smiling for real this time. 

“Open or closed?”

“Ah,” Don began with a quick glance back to the telescope. If he stayed in his lab he would only continue to fuss with it. He could adjust the finderscope. Tighten the mount. He shook his head. “Open’s fine. I’ve got, stuff,” he gestured with a floppy hand at the door, thinking about the thermos of coffee he still needed to make for his rendezvous with April that evening. “You know. Stuff. And things.” 

Leonardo nodded, and just like that, he was gone. Donatello did not even hear his brother’s footsteps as he walked away. Donatello stood, awkwardly brushing off his thighs off before adjusting his knee pads. The telescope was ready. He had an extra blanket under his bed. But there was still coffee to be made. He tapped his smart watch with a single finger and the time blinked back at him. He could still make it on time. As long as he wasn’t waylaid by any more chit chat. 

Donatello zipped down the hall to the kitchen, where Raphael was seated at the table eating breakfast cereal for dinner. He did not look up from reading the back of the cereal box when Donatello entered, and as far as Donatello was concerned, it was just as well. He had work to do. 

As Raphael crunched on his cereal, loudly grinding his teeth over each bite, Donatello bent to root around for his good (expensive) coffee out of the back of the fridge. He silently hoped that Michelangelo hadn’t used what was left of it the last time he decided to watch every Star Wars movie in one sitting. When he saw a crinkled brown bag wedged between the milk and Leonardo’s tub of Greek yogurt, his shoulders sagged in relief. As he emerged from the depths of the refrigerator, crumpled up bag of coffee beans in hand, Raphael was staring at him over his cereal bowl, green eyes flat and mirthless. 

“You know she already knows, right?”

“Yes, Raphael,” Donatello exhaled a sigh of exasperation and dragged his free hand over his face, leaving his glasses askew. “I know.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donatello isn't about to let April O'Neil finish her journalism degree and move across country without letting her know how he's felt since they were teenagers. But when something inexplicable arrives in Earth's atmosphere on the night of their first date it's hardly something the turtles can ignore.

Despite the consistent projections for clear weather that night, the visibility was crap.

Or at least, crap in comparison to what Donatello had been hoping for. Curling gray clouds drifted  in over the horizon, obscuring the stars, but not even the clouds themselves could not dampen how the the New York City lights shone across the ocean. It was truly a sight to behold, but not if your sights were set on the stars.

The turtle wrinkled his nose and forced his gaze from the clouds back to the city skyline. Past the labyrinth of warehouses that lined the docks downtown glimmered in the distance, shining brightly as any star. Glass and metal reflected a brilliant play of rainbow lights from billboards flashing advertisement after advertisement for products, services,  _ shit _ no one actually needed. Yet the show continued, cutting the edge of the dark with allusions to a life Donatello could never reach, even if he could somehow afford it. It wasn’t his world; he was only visiting.

Donatello knew he belonged down below. At best, the world might be his for a night, on top of a roof. Or on the street, hidden in shadow, behind a dumpster, or just below a manhole. Close enough to see and hear and smell everything the world had to offer, for good or for ill, but too far to reach it.

He idly stretched out his legs across the blanket beneath him, nudging an edge with a toe, trying to keep it from curling up. His finger came down over the face of his smart watch a little harder and a lot faster than he had intended it to. Donatello tapped his foot as he checked the time for the third time in three minutes. But April wasn’t late. Donatello was early. 

Maybe too early. He gingerly reached for the thermos of coffee.  _ Good _ , he thought, his fingers meeting the warm metal.  _ Still hot _ . He wanted everything to be perfect. Like Leonardo had said, this was a long time coming. It had to be perfect. Didn’t it?

Donatello’s gaze drifted to the black canvas of the Atlantic ocean at night. Blood reds and brilliant golds dashed across the black waves like an electric aurora borealis. The tide was high that night, loudly, hungrily lapping at the wood of the piers below. 

The sound was almost soothing. Almost. Donatello tapped the smart watch on his wrist again, and the time materialized in large white numbers.  He wondered if Leonardo’s not-so-subtle query about whether or not April was coming to the lair first was for her safety rather than his. April could take care of herself, of course. But it was late, and the docks were a lonely place at night. Donatello had come up through the grid, emerging from a manhole that was so close to his destination that he could have hit it with a shuriken. But April was coming above ground. Alone.

Another sweep of his finger across the face of his smartwatch revealed a list of truncated New York City news headlines. The turtle’s brown eyes scanned the small text furiously, checking for any indications of any young redheaded women being mugged…or worse. He shook his head.  _ April can take care of herself _ , he reassured himself silently, allowing his wrist to fall back to his side.  _ She was trained just like we were. _ Donatello lifted his wrist again, glancing furtively in either direction before proceeding to scan the headlines one more time. Just in case.

Just as Donatello was beginning to mull over just what he would need to do to start working on an app to tap the NYPD scanner, he heard a scraping sound at the ledge of the roof. Donatello’s head jerked toward the sound, and the tails of his bandana whipped around his neck. Unseen metal rattled as someone, or some _ thing, _ took another step closer. Donatello swallowed, hard. He had been so wrapped up in his plans for the evening with April that he hadn’t thought to do a perimeter check. 

“April?” he called with a dry mouth.

His breath caught in his throat, hanging in the silence.

“Hey Dee!” her voice rang out across the night.

Donatello’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank the maker.”

She laughed. “What are you thanking George Lucas for?”

“Oh,” Donatello smiled lopsidedly. “Nothing.”

The ancient emergency ladder that scaled the warehouse clattered as April found her footing. Donatello sat up straight. Took a deep breath. Tugged at the leather strap across his plastron, fingers nervously dancing across the metal buckle that was cold as the night. Spring had arrived and the snow had melted out of New York City’s gutters, but it there was still a chill in the air when the sun disappeared beyond the Bronx. His scaly skin prickled, but not just because of the cool night air.  He had prepared, but he had not rehearsed.  _ You should have rehearsed,  _ something inside him screamed. Too late. He blinked. Pushed his glasses up his snout. And there she was.

A grin broke across Donatello’s face as April O’Neil hefted herself up onto the warehouse roof.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Donatello replied, standing to greet her, feeling like a bipedal noodle.

Her sneakers hit the roof with a thud and Donatello thought his heart might burst right out of his plastron. He was glad it didn’t, given that it would be quite messy, and most likely end in death. But to be fair, stranger things had happened. He was a mutant, after all.

And then, there she was.

April wiped off her jeans and straightened herself. Instead of her signature yellow she was wearing a black leather jacket.  _ More conducive to stealth _ , Donatello thought. Maybe even impervious to the night wind. She pulled her beanie back down, brushed her hair out of her eyes. She smiled at him and Donatello had to make a conscious effort to keep his knees from knocking together. She was smiling. At him. Her blue eyes glinted as brightly the city lights on the water.

“What?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Oh,” Donatello shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You keep saying that,” April laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “Thanks for inviting me out! I need a study break like Michelangelo needs sprinkles with his anchovies.”

Donatello’s stomach curdled. “My pleasure.”

Right.  _ Study break. _ Donatello wrinkled his nose. What was there to differentiate tonight from any other time they had hung out together? He hadn’t asked her out so much as…told her he had a new telescope he wanted to test out. The turtle tugged at the buckle on his leather chest strap again. Perhaps he should have been more specific. Though,  _ I’ve been fixing up this telescope as an excuse to have a night alone and tell you I’ve loved you forever _ seemed a little…intense. For a first date, anyway. But this was not a date. Or was it?

“Nice find!” April’s eyes darted to the telescope, which was pointed skyward.

“Hm?” Donatello blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Mikey found it, actually.”

He had almost forgotten about the telescope. The telescope he had sold April on this evening with. The telescope he had spent hours reading up on to repair. The telescope he had spent days pouring over the model manual online, memorizing every special feature. The telescope he had spent weeks repairing, between every other task and chore and patrol. The telescope he now remembered nothing about.

“Well, looks like you’ve done a great job fixing it up – “

“It wasn’t that damaged, honestly,” Donatello objected, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks at April’s praise.

“This is  _ way _ nicer than my old one,” April crouched down on the blanket to examine the telescope.  “I can’t believe somebody just chucked it.”

“I know, right?” Donatello rubbed the back of his neck, felt his pebbly scales still prickling. 

April tilted her head upward, toward the sky, and an evening breeze rolled over the rooftop, making her red hair dance around her shoulders. His breath caught in his throat, watching her watching the sky. Of all the sights Donatello had seen, on Earth and across the universe, in this dimension and every other, April O’Neil was by far the most beautiful.

All of the moisture instantly evaporated from his mouth, watching her. He tried to swallow. Tried to speak. He opened his mouth, hoping that the words would just fall out.  _ I love you, April _ , but instead -

“I think the moon is coming into waxing gibbous?” Donatello choked, ripping his gaze away from April and up to the night sky. “Hopefully we won’t have too much glare.”

“I’m sure – “ April began.

“But Jupiter’s supposed to be _ incredibly _ bright tonight,” Donatello interrupted hastily, smiling a nervous smile. Feeling stupid for not picking another night with a quieter moon. “So we should still be able to see it.”

“Sounds great.” April shrugged, her lips curling into a gentle smile.

He tried to smile back, but only felt his face scrunch into something nervous and unpleasant. He pushed his glasses up his snout and cleared his throat.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” he said, though it was only after he spoken the words aloud that he had said them more for himself than April. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. “How’s everything going with your youtube channel?” he asked, desperate for a quick change of subject.

“Oh god,” April plopped down on the blanket. “I’ve been ignoring it. It’s awful,” she sighed loudly. “This semester is totally ruining me. I haven’t been doing any local news stuff at all.”

Donatello lowered himself onto the blanket beside April and crossed his legs beneath him. April had tucked her own legs beneath her, and he watched her hands sliding up and down from her knees to her ankles over her jeans repeatedly. It wasn’t warm enough to be out at night. He should have picked another night, warmer, with a waning moon. He should have waited.  _ No _ , he thought.  _ Now or never. _ His gaze fell on her face, lingering on the constellations of freckles bursting over her cheeks.  _ Besides, _ he reasoned silently, glancing at the thermos of coffee he had brought for their starlit picnic.  _ Every problem has a solution _ .

“Want some?” Donatello asked.

“Um,” April blinked her big blue eyes. “What?”

“Coffee!” Don’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Coffee. Want some coffee?”

“Oh,” April said, blankly, leaving Donatello wondering if he detected disappointment, or confusion in her voice. “Ah, thanks, but no thanks, Dee. If I drink any now I’ll be up all night, and I’ve got an eight AM midterm tomorrow.”

“Oh, right,” Donatello froze, unscrewing the cap of the thermos. “Of course.”

Disappointment rolled through him like a wave on the sand. What confidence he had, in himself, in his plan, in his ability to just  _ say it,  _ was dwindling rapidly. Doubt was seeping through every permeable layer of his self-esteem. April had been here less than five minutes and his plan was in shambles. Could you even call it a plan if nothing was going according to  _ plan _ ? His hands were getting clammy. Nothing had been going to plan since he scaled the roof and watched in abject horror as clouds rolled over the city skyline. Donatello had not accounted for all these variables. But he would be damned if he didn’t keep trying.

_ Now or never,  _ he told himself again, silently, stupidly, blindly, forcing himself to forge on.

His hand closed around the thermos cap and he turned it again, clockwise to open, to pour himself a cup of coffee with clammy hands. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night. The thermos was still warm in his shaking hands. The scent of coffee wafted up in steamy tendrils, and the corner of his mouth twitched into the beginning of a smile.  _ Liquid courage, _ he thought, wryly.

“Smells good though,” April proffered the words like an apology.

“That’s because it’s the good stuff,” Donatello inhaled deeply before screwing the thermos lid back on tight. Don sipped the coffee gingerly, holding the small thermos cup in one large green hand, watching April examine the telescope.  “You got it?”

“It’s a little more complicated than the junior scientist model Dad got me for my eighth birthday,” April shrugged as she squinted, peering through the eyepiece, “but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Donatello stifled a small chuckle and continued to sip his hot coffee. “I don’t doubt it.”

They were so rarely alone.

Solitude was strange, in of itself. Donatello had always been one of four. What were they against the world - alone? And then April had come into their lives and changed everything, forever. And then came Casey, who wasted no time making their lives louder, messier, and increasingly complicated. Four became five. Five became six. And in the seven years since Donatello and April had met so little time had been spent alone, together. In her junior year of college, he had practically thrown himself (and his services as a tutor) at her when she offhandedly mentioned that Chem 101 was on her schedule for the fall. They had both been grateful in equal measure. April had been nervous; hadn’t wanted a low grade to mar her GPA, not with grad school on the horizon. And she had only just broken up with Casey. The tutoring sessions had been a welcome distraction.

But even then, they had not been alone. Not really. Discussions on sig figs and memorizing metric prefixes alike were interrupted by Michelangelo’s knocks - and the scent of hot chocolate wafting under the lab door. The creaking doorway had heralded Leonardo’s curious blue eyes and gentle “ _ Just Checking In”s _ on more than one occasion. Raphael had even had to drag Casey’s prying eyes away, more than once, after a particularly pungent sparring session in the dojo. April had never noticed; she had been too engrossed in her textbooks and flashcards, but Donatello had heard it all.

And every Wednesday night, after April had packed her bag and hugged Donatello goodbye, his brothers would ask - _ “Did you tell her?” _

Donatello only ever shook his head. His reply was always the same -  _ “Too soon.” _

It had been too soon, then. The wounds of her parting with Casey too new, too fresh. They had never talked about Casey. Only chemistry. And it had been enough.

But now, everything teetered on the precipice of change. And he had to tell her. No more excuses. Donatello knocked back what remained of his coffee.  _ Now or never _ .

April adjusted the focuser, her face scrunching in concentration.

“See anything good?” Donatello asked.

“Lotsa fuzzies, but they’re all so faint - “

Donatello’s stomach dropped. He silently cursed himself for picking a night when the moon was waxing.  _ Waxing _ ,  _ dammit _ , he thought, scathingly, cursing himself for his over eagerness. For a lifetime of bad timing. For his stupidity.

“But come on,” April continued, smiling. “It’s New York City. The light pollution’s the worst,” she shrugged. “Still,” she murmured, her voice quieter. More wistful. “It’s a beautiful night.”

“Yeah,” Donatello agreed, miserably.

“We’ll have to take this up to Northampton sometime. We could see all sorts of deep-sky objects up there with a telescope this powerful.”

Hope flared in Donatello then, warm and beautiful as the morning sun. He felt it pouring over every extremity, making his pebbly skin prickle against the night air again.

“That sounds sort of like a date,” he said. Then swallowed, hard. He was almost able to say the words without choking on his own spit. Almost.

“Donnie,” April turned to face him. There was still a smile on her lips, and Donatello could see the stars shining in the depths of her eyes. “We don’t have to go to Northampton to go on a date, you know.”

April’s cheeks were flushed, though Donatello could not tell if it was the cold, or -

“I mean, that’s what this is, isn’t it?” she asked, eyes searching his face for the words he could not seem to say. “A date?”

Donatello caught a flash of yellow, the chipped polish on April’s fingers, as she gestured to the the telescope, and the coffee, and the blanket they were sitting on together. It seemed so painfully obvious, laid before the two of them. A picnic under the stars. Alone. How could she not have known?

“I - “ Donatello sputtered.  _ I wanted it to be _ , he thought, desperately groping for the words that evaded him, cold and slick as ice.

“April,” Donatello began, feeling like he did every time his brothers asked -  _ did you tell her? Too soon, too soon,  _ rang out like the siren inside him. They were supposed to sit on the blanket, old and faded and thin, but not too thin, and drink coffee, and gaze at the stars, and feel small, but not  _ too  _ small. And when the moment was right, when they were were marveling at how vast and finite everything was, and how big a part they had played in it all for such small things, he was going to tell her. It was part of the plan to tell her. He wanted to tell her, but not like this. It was still  _ too soon _ .

“I would have said yes,” April said gently. “If you’d asked.”

“April,” he said again, her words the only thing the trembling fire of hope inside him needed to flare anew. “I have something I need to tell you.”

April looked up at him, and he saw something in her eyes that he had never seen before. She was looking at him the way she looked at Casey, that night, on Halloween. Like he was the only thing in the world that would ever matter; the beginning, and the end all at once. And in that moment, it did not matter that the light pollution was bad, or the moon was too bright, because he could see all the stars in the sky in her eyes. And they were as beautiful as she was.

Donatello reached for her, and his hand softly cupped her cheek. April murmured his name and he drew her closer. He closed his eyes. Felt her breath on his neck, hot in the cold night air. This was it.

“Don,” she said his name again.

Donatello’s eyes blinked open behind his glasses, and April’s face came into focus.

“Look!” she was pointing at something.

He smiled. “I am,” he said, softly, blind to everything in the world but her.

“Not at me!” she said, her voice louder, more urgent. “The sky!”

April grabbed his face with one hand, sm his cheeks as she jerked his neck around to see what she saw. When April let go, Donatello’s mouth fell open, eyes wide behind his tortoise shell spectacles.

 

Something was blacking out the moon.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to @theherocomplex for beta reading this chapter, and thank you for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the ride so far.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey look - “ Michelangelo smiled. “The thing that ruined Donnie’s date is on the news!”

“Talk about an epic fail,” Raphael said, words punctuated by a mouthful of breakfast cereal.

 “Please,” Donatello knuckled an eye underneath his glasses. “Not before I’ve had coffee, Raphael.”

 His brother snorted. “Fat chance.”

The small television in the kitchen was switched to Channel 6 morning news where Carlos Chiang O’Brien Gambe was holding a folio of papers that Donatello highly doubted actually had anything written on them, only serving as a prop to make it appear as though anyone on Channel 6 had a _clue_ what they were talking about. But still, Donatello’s weary eyes lingered on the television screen, where an image of a blackened moon hung behind the reporter.

Ruined was a strong word. It was not the word Donatello would have chosen when describing his evening with April. But still. It had not yielded the results he was hoping for. Though to be fair, the plan had gone to hell long before an unidentified flying object had appeared in the sky and eclipsed the moon in darkness.

Donatello frowned.

“They’re callin’ it the Midnight Sun,” Michelangelo set down his spatula and wiggled his fingers, as if it was supposed to be spooky. “Want some pancakes?”

“No thank you,” Donatello dragged his feet across the kitchen floor, every step toward the coffee pot making his state of consciousness slightly more bearable.

“I’ll have some!”

“You already got breakfast,” Michelangelo flipped a pancake.

Raphael scraped the bottom of his cereal bowl. “Haven’t you ever heard of second breakfast?”

“Uh, _duh_ ,” Michelangelo rolled his big blue eyes. “But it’s more like elevenses at this point. So you might wanna check yourself before you wreck yourself, Raph.”

Obviously not in the mood to argue about hobbit meals, Raphael shoveled what was left of his cereal into his mouth. Donatello wasn’t so much ignoring them as making his way with laser like precision to the cupboard full of coffee mugs.

“So Don, what is it?” Michelangelo asked, pouring a dinged up old measuring cup worth of batter into the pan. The batter sizzled on the hot metal and the sweet smell of pancakes filled Donatello’s nostrils, making him salivate.

“I don’t know and I don’t _care,_ ” Donatello poured himself a cup of coffee, ambivalent to how petulant he sounded.

“Liar,” grunted Raphael, idly scratching at his eyepatch.

Raphael was right, but Donatello would be damned if he affirmed that aloud. Instead, gently cradling his very full cup of coffee, he slid into an open chair at the table beside his brother. When his coffee was safely situated on the table, Donatello reached for the remote. Raphael slammed the butt of his spoon dangerously close to his outstretched fingers, and Donatello’s tired eyes widened as he watched his cup of coffee wobble and pitch on the shaking table.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m just going to turn up the volume, Raph,” Donatello explained.

“Yeah, right.”

Donatello would have rolled his eyes, but he could not justify expending any more energy on Raphael before he had at least half a cup of coffee. He thumbed the remote and Gambe’s voice gradually grew louder amidst the chaos of the kitchen. _“ - what experts are calling the midnight sun.”_

“Right,” Donatello chuffed over the reporter. “Experts.”

" _Was first sighted last night at nine thirty-six PM, EST.”_

“Was that before or _after_ you tried to kiss April and ate it?” Raphael smirked, elbowing his brother from his chair.

Donatello’s fingers curled around his coffee cup. “Shut. Up. Raph.”

“Pancakes are done!”

Raphael shoved his chair out from under the table and it scraped across the kitchen tile. Donatello sipped at his coffee, considering grabbing a few ice cubes from the freezer to expedite the cooling process. Michelangelo’ announced his arrival at the table with a clattering plate piled high with fluffy pancakes. Donatello irritably thumbed the remote again, ignoring the the sweet smell wafting across the table and increasing the volume.

“ _Experts_ -” Gambe began, loudly.

“What experts!?” Donatello tossed his hands up in frustration.

" _Are currently speculating that this phenomenon is being caused by some sort of eclipse.“_

“What?” Donatello shouted, dismayed. “Anyone with functioning _eyeballs_ can see that is NOT an eclipse!”

“So what is it then, genius?” Raphael’s pancake laden plate thumped on the table.

“Yeah,” Michelangelo squeezed a bottle of syrup and an avalanche of gooey maple goodness careened over the pancake mountain on his plate. “Care to offer us your professional opinion?”

“An eclipse is an astronomical event wherein an astronomical object, in this case, the Earth’s moon, is temporarily obscured,” Donatello explained. “Lunar eclipses are caused by the Moon moving into the Earth’s shadow, but the fact that the Moon is still obscured - “

“Thanks, Donniepedia,” Raphael interrupted between mouthfuls of half-chewed pancake.

“I love Donniepedia. Learn somethin’ new every day!” Michelangelo smiled. “Thanks, man.”

“They have no idea what they’re talking about,” Donatello muted the television. “There’s no way that’s an eclipse. It’s simply not possible.”

“What’s all the commotion?” came a calm voice.

Donatello glanced away from the television long enough to see Leonardo standing in the kitchen doorway. Leonardo stood, straight as an arrow, his skin dewy with sweat from morning katas. He was the only one who still did them daily. Beside Donatello, Michelangelo shrugged. “I dunno. Pancakes just sounded good, I guess.”

“I wasn’t talking about the pancakes,” Leonardo smiled.

“Well, you can still have some if you want,” Michelangelo said, mouth opening ever wider to accommodate a fork piled high with pancake.

Still smiling, Leonardo shook his head and pulled up a chair. “So - “

“Please Leo,” Donatello said, flatly, still staring at the television screen. “Don’t ask.”

“Don’t worry, Donnie, I’m sure you’ll get another chance with April,” Raphael shrugged his broad shoulders. “Assuming the world doesn’t end.”

Leonardo did not have to ask what Raphael meant. He only glanced toward Donatello, and followed his gaze to the television, where Channel 6 reported silently on the anomaly.

As Leonardo gazed at the television the smile faded from his face. The news showed a live feed of the anomaly with the tagline “Midnight Sun”. The words formed silently on Leonardo’s lips.

It was just hanging there over the skyline, black and ominous. A stain on the otherwise perfectly blue sky that spring day.

“Do you know anything about this, Don?” Leonardo asked, his blue eyes icy.

Donatello shook his head. _But I’m going to find out,_ he thought. He took a sip of coffee, and the slight, small, slurp was painfully loud in the silence that had settled over the turtles as they watched the muted news.

“What if it’s - “ Michelangelo paused, waiting for his brothers’ attention. Leonardo and Donatello’s stares broke away from the television, settling on Michelangelo. Raphael only rolled his remaining eye. Seemingly satisfied, Michelangelo set his fork down on his plate and raised his hands, palms out to his brothers.

He spread his fingers wide. “Aliens.”

Silence.

“What?” Michelangelo shrugged defensively.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Raphael crossed his arms over his cracked plastron.

Leonardo glanced at Donatello. Donatello chewed his lip pensively. What if it was?

“Come on, guys! Don’t look at me like that,” Michelangelo wined. “It’s not like aliens would be the weirdest thing - “

“I don’t think an alien craft is necessarily out of the question,” Donatello shrugged. “It would have to be HUGE, though, guys. Like, really huge.”

“Like micro planet huge?” Michelangelo asked, eyes wide. “Like Pluto?”

“Not that huge,” Donatello answered, simply, gaze locked on the television screen. “And I believe it’s dwarf planet, not micro planet.”

Michelangelo sighed wistfully as he used his fork to steer a piece of pancake through the lake of syrup on his plate. “RIP Pluto - “  

“Do you think it could be her?” Raphael interjected, the edge of his voice softened by hope. The light of the television screen glinted in his emerald green eye.

“It doesn’t look Salamandrian to me. Not from what I can see, anyway,” Donatello bit his lip, glancing back at the enormous black mass flickering ominously on the television screen.

“Kraang?” Leonardo’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t know,” Donatello admitted. “I’ll need to get a better look.”

Donatello’s belt began to vibrate.

“Wonder who that could be,” Michelangelo waggled his brow ridges.

“Hey,” said Donatello scrambling to press his t-phone to his face, feeling his cheeks go pink.

“ _Hey_!”

“Hey April,” Raphael said, smirking as he leaned into Donatello shoulder and closer to the t-phone.

Michelangelo waived from across the table. “Hi April!”

Leonardo nodded but said nothing. His gaze had drifted back to the television screen.

April’s gentle laughter rang out from Donatello’s t-phone speaker. “ _Hi guys_.”

“She says hi,” Donatello grunted, shoving Raphael off.

Raphael raised his middle finger as he attempted to fold an entire pancake into his mouth in one bite. Donatello rolled his eyes.

“Wow, you’re in rare form today,” Donatello glared.

“ _What_?”

“Nothing!” he backpedaled. “How did your midterm go?”

“ _Have you seen what they’re saying about the anomaly_ ?” April asked, her voice electric with excitement as she circumvented his question. But Donatello couldn’t blame her – an astronomical anomaly was arguably _way_ more compelling than any test.

“Yeah,” the news cut to an ad and Donatello frowned. “We’re watching Channel 6 now.”

“ _They have no idea what they’re talking about_.”

“Right? They’re calling it the Midnight Sun,” Donatello scoffed, pulling his chair out from the table. “One sec.”

Donatello positioned his phone between his ear and his neck and took up his coffee. He slid his chair back under the table to a chorus of protests from his brothers, which he ignored, and continued walking. He padded out of the kitchen and through the living area, and past Raphael’s pinball machine. Though he did not look back, he could feel his brothers’ eyes on his shell from the kitchen table.

“Okay, sorry, maybe more like, _sixty_ seconds,” he smiled lopsidedly once he was alone in the hall.

“ _No worries_ ,” April said over a chorus of other voices. “ _Oops, sorry_ , _excuse me,”_ she said.

Donatello surmised that she was still on campus and took a sip of coffee that turned into a slurp. He cringed, thinking about slurping in April’s ear. Maybe she missed it in the cacophony of campus. “Hey, uh,” Donatello said, reflexively moving to rub the back of his neck and almost dropping his t-phone. “About last night - “

“ _Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,_ ” April paused, and Donatello’s breath caught in his throat. “ _You wanna pick up where we left off? Tonight_?”

 “April - “ Donatello began, a smile breaking over his face like the morning sun.

 “ _At the observatory_?”

 “Aprillll,” Donatello drawled out her name as he backed into his lab, opening the door by bumping it with his shell.

 He slipped into the lab, where the telescope lay on his worktable. Donatello hadn’t gotten a chance to use it the night before. Not really.

 The night before Donatello had barely been squinting through the telescope for ten seconds before April yanked him back by the carapace. Shit was getting weird, and they had been exposed. It had been futile anyhow. The moon had been too bright, the glare too loud. He hadn’t been able to make anything out, other than what they could see with their eyes alone; an enormous black mass, blotting out the moon. He needed something more powerful. Too bad there weren’t any industrial grade telescopes just lying around the neighborhood, waiting to be dumpster dived. But the fourteen inch Meade Schmidt-Cassegrain at the observatory might just do the trick.

The portable telescopes the observatory rolled out for their public outreach programs would probably do just fine, Donatello reasoned. Sidewalk Astronomy, they called it. Donatello had read about it on their website. He had stumbled across them one summer night in Harlem, telescopes pointed skyward at the corner of 125th and Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard. He had paused on that rooftop, stillness settling over him heavy as the summer heat, as he watched the crowd clustering around those telescopes; utterly in awe of the universe, and oblivious to everything around them, all at once. Oblivious to him, crouched on the ledge of that roof, watching. Wishing -

“ _Come on,_ ” April insisted. “ _It’ll be fun_.”

Donatello shook his head and kicked the door shut behind him. “Leo will never go for it,” he set his coffee down on his work table, beside the telescope.

“ _Who says he’s invited_?”

“Ms. O’Neil,” Donatello smiled slyly. “This is sounding more reckless by the minute.”

“ _That’s half the fun_.”

He imagined her shrugging, and smiling, and as Donatello felt his knees turn to goo, he was immensely grateful to be sitting at his workbench. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he sighed.

He hated saying no to April, but Leonardo would have a coronary. And that was if they didn’t get caught. The NYU campus was crawling with security guards, which would be easy enough to avoid, but their security system around the observatory - that Donatello would have to disable. And that would take time. But if April wanted to hit it that night - Donatello rubbed his eyes under his glasses. _Is that even possible?_ He wondered. The turtle groped around his work table for a pad and a pencil.  

“How are you accessing the lab?” he put the pencil to paper, scratching out a flow chart for hacking a world class university’s security system in less than eight hours.

“ _Adhita’s gonna sneak me in tonight after the lab closes,”_ April replied with a nonchalance of a person with the freedom to come and go as they pleased without the constant looming fear of being discovered, incarcerated and inevitably vivisected.

“April!” Donatello hissed in disbelief, dropping his pencil.

“ _Come on!_ ” April pleaded. Donatello’s pencil rolled off his work table and onto the floor. “ _We can both get a better look at the anomaly. You’ll get more info, and_ **_I’ll_ ** _get some great footage for my channel_.”

“What if you get expelled?” Donatello wheezed, squinting as he surveyed the floor for his missing pencil.

“ _I won’t get expelled, Hermione_.”

“Who?” Donatello snatched his pencil up off the floor.

“ _Never mind_.”

“And I’m sure the faculty is already using that telescope to study the anomaly,” Donatello said, almost cringing at how sensible he sounded.

“ _But who knows if any of that information will actually get out?_ ” April argued. “ _And don’t_ **_you_ ** _want to know what it is_?”

“Mikey thinks it’s aliens,” Donatello went back to his flow chart, scratching out a timetable.

“ _If that’s the case the world’s really never gonna know_ ,” April pouted.

Donatello understood, he did. If there was a time for independent media coverage, it was now. Who knew what sort of government cover up agenda the mainstream corporate media was beholden to. His tongue crept out of the side of his mouth as he scratched away at his diagram. Then he cocked his head to the side, and made a small sound of consideration. He could totally do this in eight hours.

“ _Don’t you wanna know_?” she repeated.

Of course he did! Donatello pinched the bridge of his snout in frustration. It was all he could think about last night, as April had hurriedly strapped the telescope to his shell. Well, almost all he could think about. As April’s fleeting fingers tugged at the leather strap over his shell, gently brushing his scutes, he had felt an electric sensation spreading over his shell. But there had been no time for that. With something so obviously wrong, they had to go to ground. Or he did, anyhow. And April had returned to her apartment, but he had beaten her home. It was good to know there were _some_ advantages of having to travel by sewer.

She had texted him when she had locked her apartment door behind her. And Mikey had heard the alert, which was how Raphael had come to know about – _what did he call it?_ Donatello wondered. _Oh. Right._ He frowned. _My epic fail._

And as he had laid awake, staring at the ceiling, he could not close his eyes without seeing the black mass, marring the face of the moon. What was it? Donatello had racked his brain, forcing his eyes open, forcing himself to stay awake. To _think_. What could it be? An eclipse? Some sort of syzygy? Donatello assured himself that if he had not been so exhausted, and emotionally overtaxed, he would have thought of the extraterrestrial possibility sooner. He told himself Michelangelo had only beaten him to it because he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

“Of course I want to know!” Donatello went to rub the back of his neck and nearly threw his t-phone over his shoulder. “That’s why it’s you’re having such an easy time getting me to even _consider_ agreeing to this insanity.”

“ _Aw, come on, give yourself some credit_ ,” April said. “ _You’re putting up a decent fight_.”

“Yeah?” a small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.

“ _Yeah_ ,” April said, and there was so much feeling in that one small word that Donatello’s heartbeat quickened. “ _I mean, as far as Leo’s concerned, I basically browbeat you into this_.”

“Is that so?” Donatello asked, underscoring the final steps on his flowchart with his pencil.

“ _Totally_.”

“So is this,” he paused, the words he could almost bring himself to say dangling in front of him, spinning wildly on a thread – he only had to reach out and grab them. “Is this a date?”

“ _You, me? Alone? At night? Walking the fine line between danger and subterfuge and discovery? I dunno, Don -_ ”

Donatello imagined her giving him that confident wink, and it made his knees liquify all over again.

“ _Are you actually going to kiss me this time_?”

A strangled noise escaped Donatello’s mouth. And he thought, in his shame, in the gripping, nauseating embarrassment that followed, that she might laugh at him. But instead, all that followed was silence as April hung on the line, waiting for his response.

Donatello cleared his throat. “Sounds like a date.”

“ _Great!_ ” April’s voice burst over the t-phone speaker.

He could practically hear the smile lighting up her voice. And he could not help but smile, too. Donatello tapped the nub of his eraser on the notepad in front of him.  “Hmmm,” he murmured.

“ _What?”_

“Adhita wouldn’t happen to be planning on giving you her keycard, would she?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Few things delight me more than writing cranky dorky Donnie.Thanks for reading, and all the encouraging comments!


	4. Chapter 4

April leaned against the cool metal of the dome, phone in hand to illuminate a crumpled up post-it note in the other. Adhita’s instructions, scratched out with a dying ballpoint pen, were curt. But they were enough. She ran her thumb over the last line, scrawled out so hard it left grooves in the bright yellow paper –  _DON’T GET_ CAUGHT. April swallowed, crumpling the post-it up and into the pocket of her jeans.

She glanced at the telescope in the center of the room, dwarfed by the vastness of the dome, and let her eyes drift upward to the stars. Adhita had made good on her promise to leave the telescope on and dome open before she left the observatory. Now Donatello just had to pull through and keep the CCTV system down.

She chewed her lip.  _Where is he?_   She tugged at the drawstring on her hoodie, hoping it had been enough to keep her face off the security feeds. But that would only matter if Don hadn’t pulled it off – and Don always pulled it off. A small smile spread across her face, and she pocketed her phone. Don was going to pull this off.  _They_  were going to pull this off.

The dome was open to the night sky where the stars shone over New York City, but the moon was nothing but black. She held the strings of her hoodie just a bit tighter, pulling them just a bit harder, drawing her hood around her face, and her neck, where her skin prickled at the cold, and something else she could not quite place. Something she did not know, hanging above them. Over them. Waiting.

 _Waiting to be discovered_ , she silently told herself, trying to muster a confidence that had almost blown away on the night wind. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, and her fingers closed around Adhita’s note.  _Where is he_?

Clammy hands groped at the phone in her back pocket, and she fumbled with it. She nearly dropped it, trying to check the time.

“Shit!” she swore as she pitched forward, catching the smartphone before it fell to the floor.

And then, she saw him, and her heart sighed. She was no longer alone. Donatello’s shadow flashed through the opening of the dome, his silhouette darkening where the observatory met the sky just for a moment before he swung himself inside. April smiled, watching him. He descended with a silent grace that still surprised her, after all these years.

Donatello landed before her without so making so much as an echo.

“Hey,” he smiled.

“Hey,” April smiled back, looking up at him. Had he always been so tall? Her smile nearly turned to a smirk. Maybe he was just standing a little straighter. Either way, he looked good. She tilted her head to the side. “What took you so long?”

“Ran into some security,” Donatello shrugged. “Just rent-a-cops. No biggie.”

“Did they see you?” April asked, her voice edged with worry.

“Nope!” Donatello grinned. “And neither did the CCTVs.”

So. Donatello’s plan had worked. April shook her head, but she could not help but smile. Of course it had worked. It was Don. Even if it hadn’t, he would have found a way to her.

He always did.

“Come on,” April nodded towards the telescope. “Someone’s gonna notice the observatory’s still open eventually.”

Donatello snorted. “Not the rent-a-cops.”

April only shook her head as she walked away, not waiting for Donatello; silently hoping that he might linger behind her, just for a moment, to catch a glimpse of the swing of her hips in her jeans. She reached the telescope and paused. Her hand instinctively went for the crumpled up post-it note in her pocket, until she remembered the words written largest, scrawled hardest and deepest on it:  _DON’T GET CAUGHT._  They had no time to hesitate.

She was about to lean into the viewfinder, when Donatello silently joined her. She glanced over her shoulder and watched as he reached for his utility belt, producing something approximately the size and shape of a thumb drive. April arched a brow.

“This should record anything the telescope “sees”,” he grinned his sweet gap-toothed grin as he made airquotes with his three fingered hands.

And April could not help but smile, too. “Thank you,” she began, but Donatello was already distracted by his search for a port for his device.

When Donatello had found his prize, and the drive clicked into place, April leaned to peer through the telescope. Her breath caught in her chest. If Donatello’s dumpster dived telescope was better than the junior scientist model of her childhood, this telescope was light years better. On her approach, the telescope had seemed so small in comparison to the enormous dome that housed it, but peering through it, it was clear that its size only belied its strength.

She felt him beside her, before she heard him. “What do you see?” he asked.

“Everything.” She uttered the word like a prayer, watching the universe unfold before her through a fourteen inch aperture.

And there it was. The moon still hung blackened in the sky. Though - April inhaled sharply. The silver glow of the celestial body shone brighter than it had before.

“What?” Donatello probed.

“The moon - “ April began. “It moved. Or we moved. The  _Earth_ moved. But the anomaly hasn’t. Look!”

They switched positions, and Donatello peered through the viewer, making that low sound he made when he was mulling something over. “If it’s stationary it’s highly unlikely that the anomaly is an astronomical object. Maybe it really is -”

“Aliens?” April whispered.

“Aliens,” Donatello affirmed joylessly, though April suspected this was not because of the prospect of extraterrestrials itself, but that Michelangelo had beaten him to what was now such an obvious conclusion.

“Can you make anything out?” she asked, leaning in close.

“Yeah,” Donatello trailed off, getting lost in the possibility of what was about to come. “But if I just, adjust -”

April leaned in, closer, as if being closer would somehow enable to her to see what Donatello was seeing. Or maybe it was just an excuse to be closer to him. Her eyes followed the slope of his shoulder, the taut muscles of his arms, stiffening with tension and  _excitement_ , as they teetered on the brink of the unknown. If it was just an excuse to be closer to him, she was thankful for it. Something unspoken and electric grew between them, like a magnetic field pushing her back and drawing her simultaneously. So she leaned in, closer. And when her arm grazed his -

“ _Hello_ ,” Donatello said, his tone deadcenter in a venn diagram of surprise, hesitation and excitement.

“Hi,” she replied, cooly.

He swallowed, and asked if she wanted to take a look. She nodded, then realized he was not looking at her, but the anomaly, and she said yes. As they switched positions, her hand grazing his as he explained the adjustments he had made, she felt that electricity surge up between them again. Her breath caught in her chest, and she almost forgot what it was that she was going to say next.

 _You are being so ridiculous right now,_ April silently scolded herself.  _It’s not like you two have never been in close quarters before_. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t spent a hundred nights sitting next to one another on the couch in the lair, eating pizza and reading his and hers news publications. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been backed up against a wall, fighting the clock, and whatever else the night threw at them to stay alive before. It wasn’t as if she had never touched him, before. But everything felt different now, somehow. Now that they had said the words aloud. She brushed her hair behind her ear, out of her eyes, and forced herself to focus. They didn’t have much time. So she opened her eyes to the universe -  but all she could see was the anomaly.

Even through the telescope the anomaly was still amorphous in shape. Big, and black, and ominous; still drowning out the moon. But the telescope’s lens revealed jagged, craggy edges, jutting out of space like an angry mountains, too steep to ever be tamed. She scanned the surface, a vast, black expanse of nothingness; no lights, no dwellings, no hull, no cockpit, no  _nothing_ . It was  _huge_. April’s stomach lurched as the excitement passed, and fear began to creep in. What was it? And then, something happened. Something at the edge of the blackness cracked.

April gasped.

“What?” Donatello urged, reaching for her hand.

“It  _changed_ ! It - it  _glichted_ **!** ” April reeled around, too excited to notice Donatello’s touch. She threw her hands up, wildly gesticulating at the telescope. “It cracked. Like a digital billboard with broken pixels - “

She stepped aside and Donatello swung in, peering out and up. He paused, and in the silence, April could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She watched, and waited, and when Donatello stopped chewing his lip, he said, “What if it’s - “

“A cloaking device,” they said, in unison.

“A  _malfunctioning_ cloaking device.” Donatello added, but did not break away from the telescope.

April drew a hand to her lips, as if to silence herself; as if she was about to speak some horrible secret aloud. “That’s why it’s pixelating.”

But who knew how much longer any of this would be a secret.

“Don,“ she said his name aloud, trying to drown out the silence of the deepening pit of dread slowly growing inside her. “We should go.”

He pulled back from the telescope and straightened himself to stand at his full height. April felt herself stiffen, acutely aware of how close they were. Donatello only nodded before turning back to the telescope and yanking his device free. Her shoulders slumped in relief, for the brief reprieve she felt with his back turned to her, knowing that his eyes were on anything  _but_  her. Because when they were, she didn’t know what to do.

“Ready when you are,” he said, offering the device to her.

April hesitated. Taking it meant touching him. And she wanted to touch him. But -

Something clanged outside the dome.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Donatello nodded, taking a defensive step back.

“ _Shit_ ,” she hissed. “Someone must have noticed that the dome was open.”

“No big deal,” Donatello said, quietly, pocketing the device in his utility belt. “Observatories are open at night all the time.” Then he shrugged. “Pretty much only at night, actually.”

“But - “ April’s protest was cut short by a rap on the door.

“You got this!” Donatello smiled at her. “Just. Wait. How does that phrase go? ” the turtle paused. “Fake it til you make it?”

Another knock came, louder this time, and April groped at her pockets.  _Damnit Donatello_ , she thought, turning on her heel towards the sound. They did not knock again. Instead, they opened the door. She glanced back over her shoulder, but Donatello was gone. “Shit.”

“Hello?” came an unfamiliar voice, followed by the sharp click of a flashlight being switched off.

“Hey!” April cleared her throat. “Uh, hi there. Hello.”  She shoved her hands deep into her pockets.

A tall but lanky man in a uniform emerged from the doorway, stony faced. “Do you clearance to access this facility, ma’am?”

“Y-yes,” April tried to swallow through a dry mouth.

The guard gave her a measuring glance, clearly unconvinced. Or expecting some sort of lab coat with coke bottle glasses, working after hours. April’s heart screamed in her chest. She could hear it, above all else; feel it, crawling up her throat, trying to escape, to flee, to keep them from getting caught. Where the  _fuck_  was Donatello? She glanced nervously around the dome to no avail.

“Ma’am?’” the guard asked, advancing on her.

April’s mouth was a thin line across her face.  _Ma’am?_ **_Really?_ **  She thought.  _Do I really look like a ma’am? I’m only twenty-three. Miss would be perfectly acceptable way to -_

“Ma’am?’” the guard pressed, harder this time. His hand was dangerously close to the radio on his belt.

“Yes, of course,” April choked, drawing Adhita’s keycard from her pocket, making sure to keep her thumb over the small, fuzzy photo of her friend’s face. She held the keycard up for him to see, not moving her thumb. “Class C access, sir.”

A large C was emblazoned in orange on the front of the keycard. Right next to the Adhita’s photo. April tried to steady her hand. Tried not to shake.

“Class C?” the guard frowned, but his hand drifted away from the radio, back to his side. “You really shouldn’t be here this late.”

April pocketed the keycard. Using every ounce of willpower not to liquify right in front of campus security, she exhaled. “I know, I know, it’s just his anomaly -” she craned her neck upward, to the sliver of night sky shining through the dome. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” she asked, nothing but sincerity in her voice.

“I think it’d be best if you lock up, ma’am.”

April nodded meekly, too busy forcing her knees not to shake to notice he was calling her ma’am again. It didn’t matter. The guard had bought it.

“Of course,” she agreed, nodding sheepishly. “Time to call it a night.”

The guard turned to the door, giving April an incredulous glare.  _Shit_ , she felt the color drain from her face, but forced herself to smile and wiggle her fingers goodbye at him anyhow. He frowned again, but closed the door behind him. When the latch clicked, April slumped over. 

“Fuck,” she swore aloud in relief, half expecting a bemused chuckle to ring out from somewhere she could not see in the dome. But none came.

April’s heart sank. A clammy hand closed around wrinkled paper in her pocket, and she gently pulled it free to read Adhita’s words one more time.  _DON’T GET CAUGHT_. She snorted and rolled her eyes. But she followed the rest of the instructions without fail.

When the observatory dome was closed, and the door locked itself shut behind her, April exhaled a sigh of relief and slumped against the bricks. Her warm breath clouded before her lips in the cold night air. She crossed her arms over her chest against the cold, but felt no warmer. She scanned the rooftops, but he was nowhere to be seen.  _Stupid ninja vanish_ , she thought, her sigh of relief curdling into a small sound of disappointment.

She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and hit the stairs. Her sneakers slapped across the concrete and the night wind swept over her face, making her hair dance around the edge of her hoodie. At least their excursion hadn’t been a total wash, she thought, shrugging her hoodie up around her shoulders against the night. They had footage of the anomaly, now. Evidence. Of what, she still did not know. But they would find out. A wry grin spread across her face, imagining how Michelangelo was going to light up when he found out he was right.  _Aliens._  She almost splayed her hands out before her like that ridiculous man on the History Channel Mikey was so fond of, but decided against it on account of the cold.

 _Aliens_ , she thought. She wondered how long it would be until the “experts” figured that one out. Sometime after they had narrowed it down to at least two potential extraterrestrial species, but before the turtles managed to make contact, she suspected.  _Aliens_ , she rolled the thought over in her mind like the waves caressing the sand, breaking each granule down into something smaller and smaller with each touch as she examined the possibilities.  _But which ones? Salamandrians?_ She smiled sadly. That would make Raphael happy.  _Or maybe Triceratons?_ Then they’d really be in deep shit.  _Or the Kraang?_  She glanced to the sky, where the anomaly hung, utterly still, while the rest of the world reeled imperceptibly around it.  _Or something else_? She felt that cold feeling creeping in again, filling all the places where wonder once dwelled with something cold, like winter’s first frost settling over a field.

But whatever it was, the world would know. April frowned, resolute. She would make sure of that. She and Don had footage now. Footage not only of the anomaly, but the anomaly  _glitching_. She smirked. Eclipses didn’t glitch. No way.

Her sneaker hit the next step and she felt a creeping sense that something, or  _someone_  was behind her. She turned, and there he was.

“Ho-lee  _crap_!” she shouted, nearly falling backwards down the stairs.

Donatello’s arm was around her waist in a second. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breath, quickening at his touch. She looked up at him and attempted a scowl.

“ _Don_!” she scolded. “Someone could see you!”

“We’ve still got at least five minutes on my CCTV shut down,” Donatello replied, unfazed. “I could check my watch to confirm, but that would entail putting you down.”

“Don’t!” April blurted, blinking back up at him. “Please don’t,” she made her addendum with a small smile.

He smiled back at her, and she fought the feeling of falling, even though he held her steady. Her lips parted to speak, but she had forgotten what she was going to say.

Perhaps that was because there was nothing left to say.

Donatello bent down, and April craned her neck upward. Her hoodie fell away, exposing her neck and shoulders to the cold the night brought with it, but it hardly mattered. When his warm breath found her neck, there was nothing else; only him. Not the cold, not the night and all its uncertainty. Just him. And her. With nothing else to say.

He kissed her, and the whole world fell away.

Their lips parted and she opened her eyes. “ _Finally,”_ she said, a grin spreading across her face that she was powerless to stop.

Donatello drew her up in his arms, allowing her to right herself on the stairs. “Finally,” he agreed. He held her, his broad green arms wrapped around her waist, just for a moment. “So,” he cleared his throat. April watched as his cheeks became tinged with pink.

“Did this meet all your criteria for a date?” he asked, timorously.

April only continued to smile. “Such as?”

“What was it you said?” he asked, drawing her in closer. “Danger and subterfuge  _and_ discovery?”

“And kissing,” April held out a single finger, for emphasis.

“And kissing,” Donatello concurred, his voice low and slow as he leaned in closer.

April closed her eyes again, waiting for her smile to melt into another kiss, and didn’t even see the security guard rounding the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here we gooooo! After years of holding back, April and Don are finally there, and it's...sort of a disaster. That's all part of the fun, though. Right? ;) 
> 
> Major thanks to @Caroaimezoe and @hummerhouse for helping me navigate AO3!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donatello and April face the consequences of Donatello being discovered on the NYU Campus.

“Don?” April called, her voice echoing down the lonely tunnel. 

Her sneaker found the last rung of the service ladder, and she jumped. She did not look before she leapt. She just jumped. Straight into a puddle. She sighed, making a half-hearted attempt to sidestep anything else that might lead to her being up to her knees in fresh sewage. She turned, her wet sneakers sucking at her feet, and peered down into the sewer. A dim light flickered in the dark. 

She felt her heartbeat accelerate. Where was he? She glanced over her shoulder, down the tunnel in the opposite direction, where no light shone. April reached for her back pocket, where her t-phone rested, ever ready. This was the spot, wasn’t it? She glanced down the tunnel. It had been years, and while she had always been impressed with the turtles’ intimate knowledge of the warren of tunnels below the city. If she was being honest, they all sort of looked the same to her. But this had to be it. The evac rendezvous spot; close enough to the lair but not  _ too  _ close. 

She rubbed her shoulders against the creeping cold, gaining little ground with her wet clothes. The sewer offered more cover than the streets, but not much more warmth. She shuddered, and felt the rippling pinprick sensation of goosebumps spreading across her skin, even under her hoodie. April exhaled sharply and rubbed her arms harder, mentally thanking past April for leaving a change of clothes at the lair.

The manhole at the top of the service ladder rattled above her and she stepped the side, out of view. She ran her hands over her hoodie sleeves again, desperately hoping the friction would make enough heat to make a difference. She closed her eyes and indulged in a fantasy of  warm,  _ dry _ , pajamas, and curling up on the couch next to Don. She could probably even stay the night. She doubted she would even need to ask. 

April paused at the thought, blinking in the darkness. Would that be weird? 

Was it weird now? Now that they were - 

Something splashed out of sight and she backed up against the tunnel wall. 

“ _ Donatello _ ?” she called, her shaking voice echoing down the length of the bore into the earth, disappearing into nothing. 

“Hey,” Donatello said down the length of the tunnel, his voice oozing with misery.

“Hey,” April replied, rushing through the puddle at her feet to find him in the dark. 

“You okay?” he asked, unable to mask his concern.

“Fine,” she shrugged. “Wet.”

“Did they – “

She shook her head. “I bolted before he could question me.”

“Good,” Donatello nodded, seemingly relieved. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, though as her eyes searched his face, even in the low light, she already knew the answer. 

“I’ll be fine.”

April’s face creased in concern. The security guard had pulled out his phone when he had found them on the stairs. But it was dark, and Donatello had moved fast. But maybe not fast enough. There was no way to know. Unless...she chewed her lip, trying not to think about it. Donatello pulled a small scrap of fabric from a pouch on his belt and proceeded to clean his glasses. Or attempt to clean his glasses. April frowned. The rag was wet, and only smearing the smudge around the lenses, but Donatello seemed too miserable to notice. 

“Here,” April offered, gently. “Let me.”

She gently took his glasses from his hands, breathing onto the lenses. They fogged in her hands, and she rubbed them with the edge of her hoodie (the only thing that hadn’t seemed to have gotten wet on her descent into the sewer). When she was done, she folded the arms up and offered them back to him. 

“Thanks,” Donatello slid his spectacles back on. The small smile that had found its way to his face vanished. “I just can’t believe I let that rent-a-cop see me. What if - what if he photographed me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” April reached for his hand, her small fingers entwining with his. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

Donatello nodded, though something in the way his mouth waivered told April he was unconvinced. 

She tried to smile reassuringly. “Come on.”

Putting one foot in front of the other they began to trudge home. April’s wet sneakers sucked at what felt like even wetter socks with each step, the heels rubbing her skin in just the wrong way. She wondered if she still had those crocks back at the lair. Anything would be preferable to her current footwear situation at this point. Just as she was about to shove her hands into her hoodie pockets, she felt something graze her wrist.

She looked up to see Donatello smiling nervously, his hand drifting by her side. She smiled at him again, and her hand found his. Five fingers easily intertwined with three, as if they had been doing this forever. It didn’t feel like the first time; it felt like the culmination of a lifetime of waiting.

Each soggy step faded into the next, until Donatello stopped.

The door to the lair had never felt less inviting. Don stood before it, caught between stillness and action. This door had welcomed them home a thousand times. Unless they were under siege, it was never locked. All Donatello had to do was turn the handle, and they would be home.

April squeezed his hand.

“It’s gonna be fine,” she said again.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. They entered the lair together, hand in hand. 

April tread softly, trying not to give away their position with the squelching of her wet sneakers. Donatello padded along silently beside her. Though he stood tall, she felt his fingers tighten around hers.  _ Don’t worry _ , she thought _ , I’m not letting go _ . She glanced up at him, but his eyes were trained on the den where turtles were all seated together on the couch, illuminated by the soft glow of the television screen in the low light. Leonardo sat apart from his brothers, eyes intent on whatever it was they were watching. Michelangelo’s legs were kicked up on the coffee table next to an empty pizza box. Raphael’s toned arms, muscles well defined even in repose, were spread across the cushions. Donatello took another step, and April followed.

When her sneaker hit the floor it made a sound like she was giving a wet whoopie cushion a half-hearted squeeze. They froze. Raphael craned his neck over his shoulder and looked the two of them up and down with his one good eye.

“Nice,” he said with a smirk. 

A smile tugged at the edge of Donatello’s mouth. 

“See, I told you- ” April began, but the rest of the words dissolved in as she watched the expression on Donatello’s face.

“Oh - “ he groaned.

The volume on the television shot up. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Donatello only pointed across the room. April felt the color drain from her face when she saw what the turtles were watching.

“Oh this is so not fine,” Donatello wheezed. 

Raphael snorted. “You can say that again.” 

Michelangelo turned around and draped himself over the back of the couch. “ _ Busted! _ ” 

Leonardo glanced over his shoulder, glaring as sharply as the kunai at his belt. “Explain,” he glowered.

“It was all my fault!” April blurted, stepping in front of Donatello, as if anything she could say or do would protect him now. “I - “

“April, I know you mean well, but,” Leonardo began.

“It was my fault,” Donatello confessed, numbly, his eyes glued to the television, where a blurry full-body shot of him was plastered to the screen. “I was stupid. I exposed myself. It’s all my fault.” 

“What was that?” Raphael asked, cupping his hand to where his ear might be if he had any. 

“I exposed myself,” Donatello admitted.

“You’ve exposed all of us!” Leonardo raised his voice as he stood. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Raphael chortled. “The other part. Before that.” 

Donatello rung his fists at his side. “I was stupid.”

Raphael cackled from the couch. 

“Raphael!” Leonardo snapped. “This is  _ not _  funny.”

Raphael snorted again and turned the television up by thumbing the remote. Gambe’s voice poured out over the blurry cell phone pic of Donatello. April watched as he wilted beside her. Though none of his features were distinguishable due to the poor lighting and phone camera quality, it was definitely Donatello. 

_ “Local security captured this photo of this unidentified organism earlier this evening, and experts are postulating - “ _

“What  _ experts _ !?” Donatello seethed, and April sighed.

_ “That it may be extraterrestrial in origin,” _ Gambe continued. “ _ Could this mysterious being be related to the Midnight Sun?” _ He paused, and the news feed cut to Gambe pensively shuffling a folio of papers at his desk. “ _ It’s too soon to tell.”  _

“HA!” Michelangelo’s head flopped back over the couch. “They think you’re an alien.”

_ “New York City is full of urban legends; rats the size of grown men,  _ **_alligators_ ** _ in the sewers, but can aliens really be among us?” _ Game queried, raising a brow. 

“If only they knew,” April whispered, stepping closer to Donatello. 

“Knew  _ what? _ ” Leonardo demanded. He had made his way around the couch and stood, arms crossed over his plastron, waiting for an answer. 

“The anomaly is totally aliens,” April turned her gaze Leonardo’s imposing figure, defiantly taking Donatello’s hand in hers. “Donatello confirmed it with me at the university observatory tonight. At  _ my _ invitation. This was all my fault.” 

“Aliens!” Michelangelo crowed, raising his arms triumphantly as if someone had just scored a touchdown. “I knew it.” 

Leonardo’s icy gaze shifted to his brother. “Is that true, Donatello?”

“Yes,” Don pushed his glasses back up his snout. “I do believe the anomaly is extraterrestrial in origin. But April is not at fault for my being seen.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Leonardo snapped. “You were seen! By a rent-a-cop, no less!”

“I know,” Donatello groaned. 

“A RENT-A-COP!” Leonardo fumed. “You’re a ninja, Donatello. A  _ ninja _ .”

“I know,” Donatello hung his head shamefully. 

“Sensei trained you better than this,” Leonardo added, and April watched as the words twist inside Donatello, sharp as a knife.

“You don’t have to pull the dead dad card on me, Leo. I know!” Donatello shouted. He sighed dismally. “I know.” 

“Don,” April said, softly, gently squeezing his hand. 

Donatello’s attempt at a deep breath turned into a miserable sigh. But then he squeezed her hand, and a small smile broke across his face. April felt heat rushing to her cheeks. “Come on, April,” he said. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

“ _ Wow! _ ” Raphael exclaimed from the couch, his head lolling back over the couch cushions. “Making up for lost time there, Don?”

April and Donatello both blushed. “That’s not – “ Donatello groaned, turning away from his brothers and back to April. “That’s not what I meant,” he whispered hastily, his cheeks flushing pink. 

“I know,” April murmured, her thumb gently running over his.  _ Not gonna lie, _ she thought,  _ that would be way more fun than the Spanish Inquisition over here _ … she forced herself to stifle a smile as her eyes darted away from Leo, avoiding his gaze. 

Donatello took her hand and she felt her heart skip in her chest under every damp layer of clothing. She almost bit her lip, cold and chapped from the night wind, but thought better of it. She didn’t want Don to know how nervous she was. She didn’t want  _ them  _ to know. Or breakfast tomorrow would be brutal. She brushed a clump of wind-matted hair hanging in front of her eyes behind her ear, and took the next step, her wet sneakers sucking at her feet again. One foot in front of the other, she told herself silently, her sneakers squeaking so loudly it almost felt obscene.

“We’re not done,” Leonardo said, flatly. 

Her wet sneakers wheezed as she stopped dead in her tracks. Leonardo had spent years mastering his paternal tone, on away missions, at home, acting as the voice of reason, and in recent years, providing guidance Splinter no longer could. April frowned. And tonight, he had finally perfected it, in all its self-righteous glory.  _ Of course _ . She nearly rolled her eyes. 

April could not recall a time when her own father had even spoken to her this way. He had always seemed to trust her, even when he shouldn’t have. But she never came home dead, so it had all worked out alright, hadn’t it? She shifted her weight uneasily under Leonardo’s harsh gaze. He was laying it on thick, tonight. Splinter had been more of a parent to her than her own father ever had, in some ways. Kirby had drifted away, after her mother disappeared. As long as she had gotten good grades and ended up in her own bed before dawn, it had all been groovy. But after they lost Splinter, too... her heart sunk thinking about it. She knew Leonardo had taken that the hardest. But no one had given Leonardo that burden to carry but himself.

And he carried the burden remarkably. He always had. Even as a boy, thrust into the mantle of leadership at only fifteen, he had persevered. But now, there was something else under the surface of his deep blue eyes. Leonardo wore the burden like a mask, as plain as the blue bandana across his brow, but it did nothing to hide the shame and the guilt of that night. Even in the storm of her fury at Leo’s self-righteous assholery, April’s heart ached for him. He bore that burden like Sisyphus. It hadn’t been his fault; but the only one that didn’t seem to know that was Leonardo. 

“You two are very sweet and all,” Leonardo’s eyes narrowed at them. “But I cannot have this distraction endangering our family.” 

“That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think, Leonardo?” Donatello asked, somberly.

April squeezed Don’s hand so hard her nails bit into his flesh.  _ Don’t go there, Don _ , she pleaded silently.  _ Please _ . 

“Since  _ your _ last distraction ended with a hole in Raphael’s face!”

April’s stomach lurched. They did not talk about that night. They did not talk about what had happened to Raphael. And most importantly, they did not talk about her. She was gone. April’s eyes widened, watching Leonardo attempting to compose himself. Donatello had broken the unspoken agreement they had all adhered to for years in his anger, red hot and furious, at himself, at Leonardo - at the entire world for rejecting them, after everything they had done. April’s heart was heavy in her chest. The world would never know, but she knew. They all did. 

“Do  _ not _ bring her into this, Donatello,” Leonardo said, coldly. 

Her fingers tightened around his, thinking about that night. The night just another battle with the Foot had turned into a tragedy. She remembered how the fray had frozen all around them. How cold those eyes were as she had forced Leonardo’s hand. Donatello’s skin was hot against hers, just like the iron of her tessen was in her hands that night. April closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out. The sound of Raphael’s screams. The sound of Leonardo’s ragged breath as he watched. The ghosts that were little more than echoes, now. 

“I think the eyepatch is a good look on you, bro,” Michelangelo said, simply. “Very swarthy.”

“Not now, Michelangelo,” Raphael growled.

“What’s done is done,” Leonardo finished, eyes icy cool.  

She could feel the retort at the tip of Donatello’s tongue, hot and eager and ready to lash out at his brother; ready to rip that old wound open even wider. She watched Don’s mouth twitch into the first syllable of her name. But he stopped himself.

“Come on, Leo,” Michelangelo nervously changed the subject from the couch. “It’s not like they know what we actually are.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Donatello muttered, as his eyes said what he could not.  _ I was stupid _ . “It won’t happen again.”

“No. It won’t,” Leonardo said, flatly. “Because none of you are going top-side again until I say so.”

“What?” Raphael shouted over the television, where an ad for toothpaste transitioned seamlessly into an advertisement for some sort of soda. 

“We’re not children,” Donatello’s brow furrowed beneath his mask. “You can’t ground us just because it suits you.” He yanked his hand away from April to point furiously at his brother. “Not anymore.”

“I can if I think it’s in the best interest of the team,” Leonardo replied, unmoved. “And I will. No one goes up until this all blows over. Your fifteen minutes of fame, the anomaly, all of it.” 

“But - “ Donatello attempted to argue. 

“This is not a discussion.”

Donatello’s hands balled into fists, but he said nothing further. April could practically hear Donatello’s teeth grinding. And then there was nothing. Not a protest from Raphael. Not even a defeated sigh from Michelangelo. Silence swelled in the living room like a noxious gas, invisible, but utterly palpable. Just when April thought they all might choke on their own wordlessness - 

“Are you done?” Donatello asked, expressionless.

Leonardo only crossed his arms over his plastron. April sighed in exasperation.  _ Thanks, Dad _ .

“Come on Don,” April gently placed a hand on his carapace. “Walk me out?”

“I would be happy to,” he said. “As long as that’s alright with  _ you _ , Leo.”

Leonardo glowered, but made no further remarks. Seizing the opportunity, April grabbed Donatello’s arm and stalked away, wet sneakers squeaking in protest with every step. “G’night guys!” she called, not looking back.

“Night April!” Michelangelo called meekly. April ignored Raphael’s grunt of acknowledgement, and tried not to let the weight of Leonardo’s gaze slow her pace as she whacked the turnstiles out of her way, yanking Donatello along with her. Donatello sputtered as he whipped around behind her. April smirked. It was kind of cute. 

April barreled through the door. Once Donatello was beside her, she slammed it behind them. Only when they were alone did she draw a deep breath of stagnant sewer air. She had never thought a mouthful of sewer smell could be such a relief. But it was. Out of sight and out of earshot, she felt her shoulders slump, exhaustion the only consolation prize of the evening.

“Well that could not have possibly gone worse,” Donatello rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

April shrugged, buried her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “You could’ve actually said her name out loud.”

Donatello sighed. “What I really wanted to do was punch him right in his smug – “

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Her hand found a way back to his.

“So,” Donatello began, shyly, casting his gaze to the tunnel floor.

April grinned. “So what?”

“So who should keep this?” Donatello produced the thumb drive like device from his utility belt, holding it up to her between his thumb and forefinger. 

She drew a quick, sharp breath. The anomaly recording. She had almost forgotten in the emotional landslide caused by Leonardo swinging his dick around like that. Her face crumpled at the thought, reminding herself not to be  _ too _ harsh. Donatello had been seen, after all. Leonardo’s blue eyes flashed in the recesses of her mind, cold and calm, but unable to belie how he truly felt. And she wondered, thinking of those hurt blue eyes, if the wounds from that night all those years ago would ever heal, or if they would always be there, just below the surface, waiting to be dredged up anew by every crisis, any argument.

Donatello was wrong. The evening could have gone so much worse. If Donatello’s anger had become completely unbridled, it could have caused a deluge. In the years since that night, they had never spoken of it. Not the fight. Not their losses. Not her. Leonardo was right to be cautious, she realized. He knew from experience what came of being reckless with your heart. But that was not Donatello’s burden to bear. Gentle, timorous Donatello, who had come so far out of his comfort zone he might as well have been on another planet.

The anomaly flashed in her mind’s eye, dark and ominous through that telescope. There was a whole new world unfolding between them, above them;  _ around _ them. And in that moment, all the possibilities before them kept the fear of the unknown at bay. April almost smiled.  

Her eyes fell over Donatello’s outstretched hand, and his fingers, which she had entwined her own with so easily just moments before. But now that they were alone again, she hesitated to touch him, almost afraid of what that might lead to in the safety of their solace. Even if it was only temporary.

“I think it’ll be safer with you,” she said, finally.

Donatello nodded and pocketed the device. “I’ll throw it up on the cloud when I get back to the lab.”

“Thanks,” April chuckled. “But no hurries no worries.” 

“What?” Donatello’s brow ridge arched.

“Well, I mean, now that the media has evidence that aliens exist and are roaming the rooftops of Manhattan, the footage is hardly breaking news,” she rolled her eyes, leaning back on her heels, making her wet sneakers squeak.

“Ha ha,” Don said, dryly. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” April shrugged.  

Donatello shook his head, but still, he smiled. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course,” she said. 

Her eyes met his, and she wondered how it had been so easy to touch him before. She bit her lip, then bit the bullet. She popped up on the tips of her toes, wet socks crowding her toes in wet sneakers, and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled away, his face was flushed pink. She wondered if hers was, too.

“Not bad for a first date?” Donatello smiled lopsidedly.

“Not bad at all.” April’s face cracked in a smile. She wondered why it hurt, until she realized that she had been doing it all night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oops. I know Donatello is better than this. We allll know Donatello is better than this. But sometimes love just sweeps you off your feet and it’s all you can see. After years of Don and April being on the Will-They-Won’t-They hamster wheel, they’ve hit the ground running and it is becoming their new normal. Sometimes that just happens when you find the right one, huh? You just fall into it. Thanks for reading; I hope you’re enjoying the ride and appreciate all the encouraging comments!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! I needed to write something a little more...lighthearted after wrapping up PFT. Though I'm sure it will get darker as we move along. Putting this one out here has been a long time coming, but thank you to theherocomplex for beta reading this chapter and bouncing off ideas for this fic!


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